Reminders
by fluggerbutter
Summary: 'You need to look at yourself, Butler,' she had said. 'You need to be reminded. You cannot lose track of who you are while he is gone. You are still a person without him, no matter that you don't think so, and you cannot forget yourself.'


You wake up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason—then you notice that your breath is heavy and quick and there is sweat on your brow, and your heart is beating far too fast for comfort. A nightmare, and one you can no longer remember.

You have been trained better than this. You are starting to slip, and it is not a good feeling.

She is by your side, facing you, sleeping soundly. Her golden curls fall across her shoulder; her lips, soft and pretty, are parted slightly, making her look ever the more innocent. One hand is on her pillow, fingers curled protectively.

With a sigh that is soft but pain-ridden, you put a hand to your forehead, close your eyes, turning so that you can look at the ceiling and not at her. There is so much to think about but you'd rather avoid those thoughts for the moment. Outrun them. Hide.

It is why you are here, now, with her. You are hiding. You do not like to admit it but it is the truth. What you are hiding from, exactly, does not bear thinking about.

She had crawled into bed with you when you were still reading, last night, and said nothing—just moved as close as she could to you and fallen asleep.

Appearing at your house without warning is not unusual for her, but doing so with messy hair and tired eyes _is. _Normally she prepares for these things. You would, too, if you were not the one being surprised. But last night she had been exhausted, and you worry for her now because you know she has no time to worry herself.

You love her so much that it borders on ridiculous.

But right now the fact that you are old and she is young, that you know better and she does too—you do not think you can face that. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

In silence, you push off your thin blanket and get out of bed, careful not to wake her.

The bathroom in this house has a mirror. It is a very large mirror, not full length but taking up most of the wall above the sink, and it is something that _she _hadinsisted upon. He had not wanted one at all.

'You need to look at yourself, Butler,' she had said. 'You need to be reminded. You cannot lose track of who you are while he is gone. You are still a person without him, no matter that you don't think so, and you cannot forget yourself.'

At the time you had not noticed the hardness in her voice when she mentioned your lost charge, the lack of emotion that you now know masked the pain she felt at your love for Artemis—a love she most likely thought overwhelmed the affection you feel for her. But that is not true. It was, at one point, but not anymore. You hope she knows that.

And there had been conviction, there, when she told you that you are still someone: even without Artemis, who you had considered to be your only reason for living for fifteen years. That was your job, after all.

Now, you think, have two people to live for. But that is not quite true. You have two people to die for. To risk your life for. Again and again.

And now the mirror seems to taunt you with your own reflection, a reflection you can almost not stand the sight of. You are so old, so battle-scarred, so tainted. She is pure and unblemished by the mere experience of _life_, while you have the blood of a thousand people on your hands and the weight of the world on your shoulders. She deserves better. She deserves more than the time you have left to give her, time that you realise now is so much shorter than you thought.

All of a sudden you are angry. With the world, with its irony, with this mirror that reminds you of yourself—which is the very reason for which it was placed here, a reason you have come to detest. It does so much more than that; it reminds you of your years and of your regrets and worst of all it reminds you that the girl in your bed, so fragile and so innocent now, will still be young when you die and have so much life to live without you. How could you do that to her? It is a cruelty but it is one you cannot give up because she is the one thing in your life that turns you into a selfish man. You are not able to imagine living without her anymore, and so it is indeed an act of inhumanity that you should make her go through that which even you cannot handle.

You pound your fists on the sink counter in your anger, shoulders heaving as your breath shakes with rage—in the process rattling a blue toothbrush that now sits beside a hastily placed purple one. There are tears in your eyes from fury and sadness both, and you think something you have never even thought to think before.

It isn't fair.

_Life isn't fair, _a hundred voices echo back at you.Artemis's is among them, and your sister's, too, and even Madame Ko's. But _hers_ does not ring clear in that multitude, and you know why. Because she would agree with you, and feel your pain, put her head on your shoulder and say that no, it isn't fair. It isn't fair at all.

You need her. You need her so badly that you are tempted to just shout for her right then, but even in your anger you are rational and you run back to your bed and shake her awake and when she has sat up, wide-eyed, you hug her so tight that for a second you can see she thinks you'll suffocate her. But you know how to hold her close without injuring her, and after a moment her body relaxes and she lets herself be cradled by you.

'What's the matter, Dom?' she murmurs, turning and pressing her ear to your chest. You can hear that she is trying to remain calm but there is distress in her voice; she is frantic. Scared for you. She called you by your first name.

'Nothing,' you say back, even as your tears fall into her hair. You press her lips to her head and smell strawberry shampoo. 'I just… I…' You can't find the words for your pain, for your heartache. For how much you love her and how much you don't want to hurt her, even though you will, even though she's the one you're supposed to be protecting. The inevitability of it all.

'Oh, Butler,' she says softly, reaching up and running a hand through your hair, which you know is greying. Her accent is thicker at nighttime. She tilts her head to look you in the eye; her own gaze is blue, softer than Artemis's but still bright and visible in the darkness, filled with worry and shining with tears for you.

Then you remember the nightmare, the reason you are awake in the first place.

She died. She died and you were alone; you still had himbut it wasn't the same. And you saw her. You saw her on the floor, bleeding to her death, giving up, and you could see Artemis's breath catch and you could see his heart break but it was nothing in comparison to the way you felt. And you knew you were too late so you looked away and no one could explain why you were crying.

You let out a sob and bury your face in her hair and rock her back and forth, wishing you never had to let go, wishing you could just keep her here and keep her safe forever and ever and ever. But you can't. Someday you will be gone and she will be without you.

And yet and even through your despair at what will come, you are so, so grateful for what you have now. She is the light in your shadow-filled world, and without her you would have forgotten yourself long ago.

'Shh,' she says, wiping away your fast-falling tears with her thumb while she cries herself. 'It's okay. I'm here. You're fine, you're all right, you're safe… just sleep, _mon cher_, just go to sleep; I'll stay… oh, love, don't cry. I'm here.'

'I thank God every single day for you, Minerva,' you whisper into her hair, trying in vain to stop weeping.

You can hear her surprise in the silence that follows, and after that brief pause she continues to say nothing—just wraps her arms around your neck, holds on for all she's worth. You know that she will not let go even when you fall back into a fitful sleep.

You love her so much that it borders on ridiculous.


End file.
